


The Beginning in the End

by Kamie007



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I fixed it, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Oops, i did a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26209180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamie007/pseuds/Kamie007
Summary: They’d won. They’d actually done it. Despite the odds, the number of aliens that poured from the hole in the sky worthy of Chicken Little, humanity prevailed. But what happens next for all of our favorite heroes?Definitely not anything remotely canon after The Avengers, that's for sure.There's romance, there's angst, and most importantly there's a happy ending!*currently undergoing edits (major and minor)*
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 37





	1. The Familiar Ending

**Author's Note:**

> This story involves The Avengers movie and what happens next. While it is mostly canon compliant with that movie, that is literally the only piece of canon that will remain in this story. I will warn you that there may be some triggering depictions of a canon character death that are quite graphic in this prologue. As always, comments and other interactions are welcome, and I hope you enjoy the story! Also, I swear on my life it gets happier!!

The Familiar Ending

“Even I don’t know what it does. Wanna find out?”

The god-like man before him just smirked, and before Coulson could blink, a searing white pain erupted from his center, as the sceptre passed through his chest as if he were made of butter. His vision went blank as the pain processed. Next thing he knew, he was sitting on the metal mesh floor, and he could feel tracks of blood running down his chin and the warmth of the life-bringing substance beginning to pool in his lap as the beating of his heart brought his demise closer and closer. He could also feel the weight of the weapon in his lap, the strong humming sensation bringing a strange form of comfort. The sound of the wind rushing past his ears was deafening, but was soon replaced by the _whoosh_ of blood rushing past his eardrums before escaping through the gaping wound in his chest and back. 

He’d faced death before, but he’d never been so hopeless as he was in that moment. Panic began to set in, not for his own mortality, but for the world’s. The Avengers weren’t a team like he’d hoped they would be. They hadn’t banded together with a sense of epic camaraderie, but instead had met each other with bitterness and bickering. Even his own team of ten years had been split apart by the wanna-be world dominator standing over him.

And now, they'd just lost the God of Thunder in a plexiglass cage dropped at 30,000 feet. 

The words fell from his lips, along with an awful mixture of blood and saliva as the blood was pulled into his bronchioles with each breath. 

“You’re going to lose.”

“Am I?”

“It’s in your nature.”

Loki turned, smirking at the dying man on the floor.

“Your heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky. Where exactly is my disadvantage?”

“You lack conviction.”

Coulson’s accusation hung in the air for a moment, and Loki began his rebuttal but was cut off by a bright flash as he was sent ass-over-kettle through the wall by the orange-glowing weapon’s discharge.

“Huh, so that’s what it does.”

The corners of Coulson’s mouth turned up a bit at the hoarse groan coming from the robed man in the rubble, then pulled down as each breath became harder to take in, and several coughs left his throat and nasal passages burning with a sticky sensation of blood and saliva. His mouth tasted of iron, and a numbness began to creep through his extremities as his heart weakened and his blood became more scarce in his veins. Several sets of footsteps rang through the metal corridor with the director in the lead. Fury leaned over him and took the weapon from Coulson’s lap.

“Sorry boss, the god rabbited.”

“Just stay awake. Eyes on me.” Coulson struggled to keep his focus on the man he’d come to call a friend in their twenty-plus years of working together. He could feel the warmth of Fury’s hand grip his jaw, but the numbness and the cold continued their spread.

“No, I’m clocking out here.” Words beat against the roof of his mouth, but his energy waned and they died on the tip of his tongue. His moments were numbered, and so he organized his words to the best of his ability in order from most situationally important to least. If he was going to die a hero’s death, his last words had to mean something.

“Not an option.” If it hadn’t already been sliced into two by the mad god’s over-sized knife, his heart would have been broken by the desperation in his friend’s voice.

“It’s okay, boss.” His heart rate spiked as the volume of blood became too small to properly pump through his body, and his lung capacity was significantly diminished by the viscous liquid occupying the space oxygen was supposed to. 

“This was never gonna work if they didn’t have something to...” The light faded into darkness and everything slipped away, and his last thoughts floated to those he held closest before the silence took over.


	2. A New Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's going to get worse before it gets better. But hang in there, the next part will be posted by the end of next week! I pinky promise!

A New Perspective

They’d won. They’d actually done it. Despite the odds, the number of aliens that poured from the hole in the sky worthy of Chicken Little, humanity prevailed. He brought another bite of shawarma to his lips, his forearms trembling a little, dribbling a bit of sauce down the front of his uniform. His lips dipped down and his brow furrowed, and he let out a little harrumph with a muttering of “aw, sauce, no.” 

The back of his neck prickled, and his ears took on some heat, but he kept his focus on finishing the meal. 

Flashes of the past week circled through his mind. From Pegasus, to Loki, to his rude awakening, and finally the battle with the aliens. He’d seen a lot of fire fights, and a lot of really strange things in his time with SHIELD, but he had to admit a portal to deep space with aliens pouring out of it definitely took the cake. The adrenalin that carried him through the fight began to dissipate, and his thoughts returned to the one moment he regretted most. 

High on adrenaline and anger, bow in hand, he could have taken his revenge right there at the top of Stark’s flashy tower. All he had to do was just let go of the arrow. What was left of the logical part of his brain cycled through all of the reasons killing Loki would have been a bad idea - if the arrow would have even done the job in the first place - but it wasn’t easy for him to reconcile now. He’d done so much harm, had caused so much pain, all because that stupid glowing stick touched his chest. Because of Loki. The cold, the numbness, it still remained, to some extent. 

He shifted in the metal-backed restaurant chair, the pain in his joints and muscles protesting the movement. He would have killed for a massage at that moment. Memories of massages he’d received in the past floated through his memories, and a sudden eagerness to return to the helicarrier flooded through him. 

“Well, this has certainly been an adventure, but I think it’s time for me to face the music and return to the helicarrier.”

He made eye contact with Natasha, but it didn’t comfort him like it usually did. He gave it another second, waiting for some sort of shift that would tell him what she was hiding from him, but her face was unmoving, like an ice sculpture. He maintained eye contact, hoping the heat of his stare would start melting it, but for the first time in nearly a decade, he couldn’t read his partner’s face. Anxiety bubbled up, blocking up his airway. The light headedness from the concussion she’d given him with the “cognitive recalibration” from earlier that morning resurfaced, and he tried to blink away the blurriness to little effect. 

“How do you plan on getting back up there without a quin?” Stark asked. “I mean, since you kind of wrecked the one you came down in.” 

Barton scowled at Stark.

“ _I_ didn’t wreck the one I flew down in. Some aliens from outer space _shot it down_ while I was flying it.” Barton retorted. “There is a difference. Literally. Wrecking a quin because of pilot stupidity is a completely different SHIELD form than being taken down by an enemy. Trust me, I’ve filled out plenty of both forms of paperwork over the years.” 

He grinned as he recalled the most recent time he’d had to fill out one of the forms. It had just been a few months ago. He and Tasha had been in Bangkok with Hill and Coulson, and he was trying to land the quin on top of an apartment building to take out some baddies when one of the AIM guys took out a bazooka and quite literally knocked him out of the sky. Hill was shaking her head over the destruction of SHIELD property, while Natasha and Coulson were shaking with laughter over the way the soot from the wreckage made his hair stand up funny. The memory reminded him of why he wanted to get back to the helicarrier so badly. 

“Regardless of the works of papers, I would imagine getting up there at this time would be quite difficult for one who cannot fly of their own volition.” Thor said, using words Barton only half understood. No one said anything else, and wouldn’t even meet Barton’s gaze.

“Listen, Hawk, you probably don’t want to hear this right now, but you may not get the warmest reception up there. I mean, you kinda nearly took the helicarrier out of the sky -”

“That’s not true.” Natasha interrupted Stark. She looked into Barton’s eyes and continued, “if you had been completely under Loki’s control, things would have been much worse. The helicarrier wouldn’t have remained in the air if you hadn’t had some kind of control. Not to mention, you didn’t kill anyone. I know you’ve been counting, but you need to stop. You didn’t kill anyone.”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He took in the cacophony of the city in the aftermath, counting five things he could smell: concrete dust, shawarma, sweat, smoke, gasoline; five things he could hear: police sirens, heavy machinery, his own heartbeat, the broom of the restaurant worker sweeping the floor, the shifting of heavy pieces of concrete and stone in the distance; five things he could feel: the cold metal of the chair pushing into his cracked ribs, Natasha’s toes pressed against his, the empty wrapper crinkling in his hand, the breeze coming through the hole in the wall. He opened his eyes again, once again grounded in the present. 

“Stark’s right, though, the people on the helicarrier won’t be so understanding, will they. They’ll know I flew Loki to ‘em.”

Natasha shook her head slowly, but didn’t say anything. The silence around the table returned, each warrior caught up in their own thoughts. 

“We can’t let it happen again.” Barton brought his attention to Steve and cocked his head, his eyes narrowing and his brows leaning down toward his nose. The others just nodded, as if what Steve had just said made as much sense as saying “the sun rises in the East.” 

“What, aliens coming from a portal to the middle of space built by a megalomaniac god who wants to enslave humanity? ‘Cause I’m definitely down for trying to make sure that never happens again. Hope you’ve got some ideas, though, cause I’m fresh out, currently. Other than, you know, don’t play with shiny cubes that can become doorways in order to weaponize them.” Barton smarted off, hoping to lighten the mood despite the circumstances. Stark stared at him for a moment, then said, “you didn’t know him, did you Barton.” 

Barton’s eyes flashed to Natasha, but she was inspecting her handgun with a careful scrutiny reserved for the times she didn’t want to talk about something. 

“Stark, he may not know. He was still under Loki’s control when that happened. And unless Agent Romanoff told him, no one else has. He doesn’t know how our first meeting went,” Steve explained. Barton’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving.

“You guys fought, didn’t you! I _told_ him you weren’t going to get along at first! Who started it? And why weren’t Banner and Thor on the carrier when we took off?” Barton sat up a little straighter in his chair, pushing off the floor with his legs and settling back in a little more upright than he had been. 

“Well, it started with - “ 

“That’s enough, Stark. I’ll tell him,” Natasha interrupted again. Tony looked a little offended, but he shrugged it off soon enough. She went back to cleaning her gun. Barton’s stomach twisted up on itself. Suddenly, the shawarma didn’t taste too good anymore. She holstered the pistol, then got up and left the table, and Barton followed quietly. 

She picked her way through the rubble of the city, and Barton focused on the pain in his back and joints, the feel of the rough pavement under foot, the glass particles still stuck in the scrapes from his crash through the window during the fight. Letting his mind wonder about what it is she’s so afraid to tell him was dangerous business. Once, Natasha was trying to tell him that she had lost a piece of a puzzle he had lent her, and he had gotten himself so worked up about it that he was convinced she was gonna tell him that his dog was found dead in the street, or that she had broken his favorite bow. 

She stopped and sat on a piece of rubble that was in some shade and patted the spot next to her. He used his arms to launch himself up, grimacing a little. Unlike usual, this silence wasn’t comfortable for Barton. He steeled himself for whatever she had to confess, pretty sure it wasn’t going to be a trivial incident about broken toys.

“He’s dead, Clint.” Air rushed out of his lungs as if he’d just been punched in the gut. He was not prepared for that one. Nothing he could have dreamed up on the way over here would have prepared him for this information. “He stood up to Loki, alone, with one of the Phase Two prototypes, and Loki stabbed him through the back while Thor was trapped in the Hulk cage.” 

_Smoke, concrete, blood, ash, soot, blood, vomit, sweat, rough, pain, glass, sirens._

His lungs were on fire. His airway was blocked. His teeth ached. He was paralyzed. 

“Stark and Rogers bickered from the start. Thor thought we were all immature and ridiculous. Loki’s plan was to use the Hulk against us, and he did.” She paused, giving him time to process before continuing with more detail. “Stark and Rogers had to focus on getting the helicarrier stabilized, Fury and Hill were on the flight deck giving orders, and I was being chased by the Hulk, assisted by Thor, then Hulk jumped off and landed in an abandoned warehouse somewhere along the east coast. Thor then went to face Loki, who had been locked in the Hulk cage, but was tricked by his brother and locked in there himself. Then Phil charged into the room, but Loki teleported behind him.” Her voice trembled, but she continued. “Loki released the Hulk cage with Thor in it, and Phil blew Loki through a wall, but Loki escaped. I hit you in the head really hard, and then, we fought aliens.”

“And got shawarma.” Barton husked out.

Natasha snorted, then confirmed, “yes, and then we got shawarma.”

“Was he - “ Barton closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose then tried again. “Was he alone?”

“No. Nick was there.”

Barton squeezed his eyes together tightly, then blinked rapidly for a moment. Then he sputtered a laugh. “What did he say? Were his last words as heroic as he always imagined?”

“And then some,” Natasha whispered. 

They sat in silence until the sun touched the horizon, and the pink and orange hues of sunset lit up the sky. 


	3. The Memorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So originally this was not the chapter I had posted, but after speaking with a writer friend, I determined that I had posted that particular chapter, "The One Where He Wakes Up," too soon. It will be seen again, just a bit later than it was. So sorry to the ones who've been keeping up with me so far, but I really hope this new timeline will make for a better story overall! Thanks for reading, and I encourage you to interact with this story in any way you feel compelled!

The Memorial

“Clint? You ready?” Natasha gives him a moment to answer, then opens the door into his bedroom when he doesn’t. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the piles of clothes scattered around on the floor, and was unable to distinguish between those that were dirty and those that were clean. Clint was nowhere in sight, so she began carefully stepping around the piles to the second door leading to the en suite bathroom, slightly afraid of what might come out of the heaps. The door was already open, and she saw Clint sitting cross-legged on the countertop. When she got to the doorway, she stopped, leaning against the frame and watching Clint’s fingers trace over the shape of Captain America’s shield which was printed like polka dots all over the legs of the pajama pants repetitively.

“That would certainly be a statement,” she said. Clint didn’t look up, and his finger kept moving from shield to shield up and down his legs.

“I’m not going.” 

“The others aren’t going to like it. They-”

“The others already don’t like me,” Clint interrupted her, finally stopping the tracing and looking her in the eye. “And I’m perfectly fine with that.” Natasha nodded for a moment, eyes cast down to the white and black tiled floor. 

“Besides, all the SHIELD people will be there too. And even if they don’t blame me and hate me, it’ll only be worse,” Clint spat, upper lip curling at the thought, “they’ll look at me with that awful pity. Every time I’ve gone to headquarters, I get the same reactions. Fear and pity. I’m not fond of either, but I have to say I’d rather everyone hated me.” 

Natasha hopped up onto the counter beside him, and he leaned his head on her shoulder. 

“You want me to stream it? I can wear a bug.” Clint thought about it, then nodded against her slowly. They sat in silence together for a few minutes.

“I’m going to be late,” she said brusquely as she slid off of the counter. “We’ll be on the roof of the main HQ building if you change your mind - and your clothes.” Clint laughed weakly as she picked her way back out of the disaster area. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ladies and gentlemen, we all know why we’re here,” Fury addressed the crowd of SHIELD agents and Avengers standing in rows in front of him. “But because it is traditional, I am gonna tell you anyway. We are here to remember the lives and actions of the courageous agents of SHIELD who gave their lives for this organization and for this country.” Fury looked back to the picture frames resting on tripods lined up in two rows behind him. “During the Battle of New York, as it is coming to be known, and the days leading up to it, we lost 172 agents. Of those, 156 were lost in the collapse of the Pegasus compound, six were murdered by Loki, and 10 were killed by the private mercenaries Loki corrupted and set loose on the helicarrier. Let us all take a moment of silence to thank these men and women for their bravery and remember them as friends and colleagues.” 

Heads across the crowd bowed, and the sea of people rippled with the movement, like waves on a crowded lake. Some were stoic and silent, while others openly wept for their fallen friends. 

The director stepped over to the side, and Agent Hill took his place, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Our organization will never be the same. Each of these agents brought something unique to their teams, and their deaths will be noticed by all around them. Their positions will be filled, because life must go on, but they cannot be replaced. Let us continue to fight for the people of this country, and for the entire world, no matter what we face next. We will never have the public’s thanks, they will never know our names, but we will stand up for them nonetheless. That is why we are here. That is the ideal these agents died for. Remember that. You are all dismissed.”

The rows of agents broke apart quickly. Some left the roof immediately, others congregated in groups, telling stories of the fallen, and some went up to the pictures to pay their respects. Natasha turned off the recording device disguised as an American flag pin on the lapel of her black blazer. Her phone buzzed.

_Why’d you cut it? - CB_

_Because you didn’t want to face these people. If you’re not going to do it in person, I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of watching them on a computer screen. - NR_

_Bitch - CB_

She smiled, then slipped her phone into the blazer’s pocket as Fury and Hill walked up to the Avengers in attendance. 

“That was a nice speech. There were a lot more fallen agents than I’d realized,” Steve said, shaking Fury’s hand, then Maria’s. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Fury nodded in acceptance of the apology.

“Most of them died when Loki emerged from the Tesseract and set off a cave-in on the Pegasus campus. We got most people evacuated, but there just wasn’t enough time,” Hill replied. The Avengers all nodded, each murmuring a different form of condolence. Fury and Hill then split from the group, moving on to speak with other agents before going back down into the building. 

“So, uh, noticed Hawk guy didn’t show up. Guess he was too important to know any of these people,” Stark barbed. Natasha glared at him, then responded. “That’s not true. He knew every single one of those people, just like I did. We weren’t close to all of them, but there were a few that were like family to both of us.”

“Then why didn’t he come?” Steve asked. 

Natasha looked across the roof at all of the congregated agents around them, then said, “Everyone here knows that Clint was one of the first to be taken by Loki’s powers. If they don’t blame him for the deaths of those killed on the helicarrier because he flew Loki’s mercenaries in the stolen quinn, they pity him because they know he blames himself, and because of how close he was to some of the victims.” 

Stark glued his eyes to his shoes, bottom lip curled up between his teeth, his hands in his pockets as he rocked up onto his heels then slapped his toes back down on the concrete roof. Rogers and Banner both blinked heavily, shaking their heads side to side slowly. 

“I’m sorry, I’d never thought about it like that before,” Banner said to Natasha. “How’s he doing? Is he gonna be ok?” 

“Eventually.” She looked at the three men individually. “Of course, it would help if you three would at least pretend to want to get to know him. He would never be able to handle going on another regular SHIELD mission because of the reactions of the other agents, so he needs a new team. If you don’t step up soon, we’ll lose him.” 

Steve’s head snapped up to look at Natasha. “Are you saying Barton’s suicidal?” 

“No, but he’ll disappear, never to be heard from again. Clint is really good at not being found when he doesn’t want to be. If he decided to go, I’m not even sure I would be able to track him down.” 

“And?” Stark said, jaw held tight, his eyes narrowed. 

“You’ve read Hawkeye’s file. You know why he was recommended to join the Avengers.”

“Wait, Hawkeye was actually meant to be a part of the Avengers all along?” Steve asked. “I thought he just ended up in the fight because he could fly a quinn and he had an axe to grind with Loki?”

“Yup, Red’s right. The Hawk is the greatest marksman with any projectile, be it knives, guns, or his trademark weapon, the bow and arrow,” Stark replied. “According to his file, he’s got great eyesight, and an even better understanding of the physics of aiming over long distances, as well as a brilliant strategic mind.” 

“So, what I’m hearing, Stark, is that you’ve been hostile about Agent Barton because you’re intimidated by him?” Banner took the metaphorical prodding fork into his own hands, taking his turn with it and poking Stark right in the ego. “Aww, look, he’s blushing,” Banner cruned to the others, pointing at the man who was quickly becoming one of the best friends Banner had ever had. The three laughed at Stark’s expense for a moment, then the laughter died down as their minds came back to rest on the matter at hand. 

“The tower should be ready in another couple of weeks, and I was going to mention this to all of you then, but I guess now really would be a better time for it,” Tony began. “I’m building floors for all of you, specifically designed to fit your needs and hobbies, and I’m inviting you to live in them, full time. We’ll call it the Avengers’ Tower, and when duty calls, we can all be there to answer,” Stark said. Then, he turned to address Natasha. “Riding hood, will you tell him he’s welcome to move in?” 

“I think you should tell him yourself,” she responded. She then took out a notebook from an inside pocket of the blazer as well as a pen, then wrote something down and handed the paper to Stark. “This is his phone number and home address. Call him, then text him, and if you don’t get anything within a day or two, go to the apartment. Don’t open the door on your own, keep banging and wait for him to answer it. If you just walk in, you might get shot.” 

Stark looked at her, head cocked sideways, one eyebrow lifted. 

“Yes, I’m serious,” she said before walking off toward the staircase off of the roof. 

Rogers patted both men on the shoulders, then made his way toward the photographs. He stood in front of them all, taking his time to write down all of their names in a small notebook. He lingered a touch longer at Coulson’s photograph than the others, having saved his for last. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about the photo seemed - off. 

“That picture doesn’t do him justice, does it?” Fury’s voice boomed from behind Steve, startling him. “He looks so serious. It doesn’t catch his mischievous streak.”

“Coulson - mischievous? I guess I didn’t catch that either,” Steve said. Fury laughed, then said, “Yessir. Coulson was a master of gaslighting. He would tell you something, then five minutes later when you brought it back up he would act as if you had asked him if he’d been to the moon before. And that’s not even mentioning the practical jokes he and Barton set up together over the years.” Steve leaned back onto his heels and looked at Fury.

“So they were close.”

“You’ll have to ask Barton for more. It’s not my place to tell,” Fury said. He clapped his hand on Steve’s shoulder and walked off. 

Steve stayed there a moment longer, then he got to work. Soon, he had a rough sketch that was very similar to the picture sitting in front of him, but with the addition of that hint of mischief the director had referenced. Looking between his sketch and the picture, he realized Fury had been right. The sketch looked more like the man Steve remembered meeting much more than the photograph. Steve smiled, and huffed a little chuckle, then made his way to the roof’s exit. As he walked past, he saw that Stark had his phone to his ear.

“Hey, Barton, it’s Tony. Give me a call back, there’s some important stuff I wanted to talk with you about. Red gave me your number, and if you don’t answer me, told me to come to your house - just a warning.” 

Steve rolled his eyes at Stark’s idea of an encouraging message, then started down the stairs. 


	4. The Avengers Assemble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Natasha work to convince Clint to move into the Avengers Tower with the rest of the gang.

“And now, for the evening news with -” Clint turns off the tv, then picks up the empty glass sitting on the chipped surface of the dark wood coffee table in front of the couch. He used his arms, pushing down on the small shields on his pants, making the fabric scrunch, as he forced himself off the couch. He took a moment after making it all the way to standing, first reaching his hands up above his head, then leaning side to side slowly, feeling the burn along his ribs and up and down his spine. He then pushed his shoulders back, puffing out his chest, then dropped his arms back to his side before slowly squatting down, feeling the muscles in his thighs and calves protest. He stood back up slowly, then ambled around the end of the couch and into the kitchen. 

As he walked away, he heard his phone buzzing on the coffee table. He continued on, opening the top section of the fridge and reached into the freezer for a couple of ice cubes. The buzzing stopped while he filled his glass of ice with water from the sink faucet. Clint took a couple of big gulps of the water, draining the glass, then refilled it. He leaned his hips against the counter, bracing his right arm behind him, and drank. Halfway through that second glass, the front door began rattling as someone from the other side banged heavily. 

“Barton, I know you’re in there. I heard your phone go off and the faucet running.” 

Clint finished his glass of water, put his glass in the sink, and walked past the door and down the narrow hallway into a door on the left. 

“Come on, Barton, it’s Tony, you know it’s me,” Stark yelled through the door, banging again and again. “I’m not leaving until you let me in.” 

Clint shuffled through the room, now devoid of clothing piles, and threw himself on the bed, closing his eyes. The banging didn’t stop or let up. 

Ten minutes passed, and Stark was still at the door, yelling and banging. Clint pinched his eyes together tightly, then growled under his breath while rolling off the bed and stomping back up the hallway to the door, throwing it open with his left hand. As he opened the door, Stark’s fist came barreling toward his face, and Clint’s right hand flew up to catch it. He used that grip to yank Stark into the apartment, swinging the door shut behind him while giving him a death glare. 

“Sit,” Clint ordered him, shoving him toward the couch. Stark obeyed, sitting on the far left side of the couch. The brown leather was soft, slightly cracked in some places, and the cushion underneath Tony collapsed down as he sat. Clint stalked his way over to the bookshelves beside the flat screen tv, leaning against them, still glaring at the intruder perched on his couch.

“You’ve got a dog?” Stark asked, pointing to the dog bed sitting on the floor to the right of the tv, placed under the window. Clint didn’t follow the finger, and stayed silent for a moment.

“No.”

“Okay, so why do -”

“Not anymore,” Clint finished, his jaw clenched, his eyes tightened around the corners. 

“I’m sorry,” Stark said. “What happened?” 

Clint pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, swallowed deep, then answered. 

“Cancer. It had spread all over. Had to put him down last week.” 

Stark’s mouth dropped open slightly, and he blinked rapidly. 

“When it rains it really pours, doesn’t it,” Tony said numbly. 

Clint huffed out of his nose, and relaxed a bit. Tony nodded his head to the side toward the couch, and Clint walked between the coffee table and the tv and sat on the opposite end of the couch. 

“What was his name?” Tony asked. Clint lifted his head up quickly and looked at Tony through narrowed eyes before answering. 

“Lucky. His name was Lucky.” Clint leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging intertwined in the space between his legs. 

“That’s a good name for a dog, I guess. I mean I never had a dog, so I’m no expert on pet naming,” Tony rambled. “Although, I guess I’m surprised your dog’s name didn’t have something to do with the Cap, since your pants seem to suggest that you’re somewhat of a fan.”

“You didn’t come here to comment on the name of my dead dog, Stark. Get to the point already,” Clint snapped, picking at the worn woolen fabric of the pjs. 

“Oops, guess that struck a nerve. I’m sorry,” Tony said. “But I came to offer you a floor in the Avengers Tower. For you to - you know - live in and stuff. It’ll be totally customized to you, and you can have full veto power on everything in it,” Tony pitched. “Widow’s been helping with some of the basic design elements these last two weeks, but there are a few more details I wanted you to decide on.” He waited a few seconds, and when Clint didn’t react he continued, “You don’t have to answer right now, of course, I just want you to think about it.” Tony got up, turned around and opened his mouth, bringing up his right hand, pointer finger up, then closed his mouth, put his finger down and frowned, then just walked out of the apartment, throwing behind him a, “think about it,” as he opened the door and walked out, closing the door behind him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clint’s heels hit the wooden cabinets rhythmically, making the doors rattle with each hollow  _ thud _ as he bounced his legs up and down from his perch on the kitchen counter. 

“Tash, why did you agree to live there? With  _ them _ ?” Clint whined. Natasha just stared at him, as if she were looking at a petulant child.

“Because they're our team now, and everyone else has already said they would, even Thor has agreed to living here on Earth. Plus, Stark is rich, which means we get a lot of cool shit for free,” Natasha explained.

Clint’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “You were bought with cool shit and peer pressure?”

Natasha laughed, then replied, “Pretty much. Did I mention there’s a whole ass range in the tower? Just taking up an entire floor. Then there’s the obstacle course floor, the gym floor, the sparring floor -”

“Okay, okay, you know you had me at the range,” Clint chuckled as he looked at her. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you haven’t left this apartment or taken off his pajama pants in over two months now, except for when you had to go to the vet two weeks ago,” she replied, standing in front of Clint, her hands resting on the cabinet on either side of his legs, boxing him in. “And you made a promise. To live. You can’t live like this, Clint. Alone, locked into the place you shared with him. We have to keep moving, keep living.”

“I’m not giving this place up.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Clint locked eyes with Natasha and they shared their sorrow for a few minutes. 

“What do I need to pack?”

“Just your clothes and weapons. Everything else will be provided,” she said, backing away and moving toward the door.

Halfway there she paused, turned around and said, “You were already going to say yes, weren’t you?”

Clint gave her a lopsided grin and brought his right arm up to rub the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I just wanted you to tell me why I should.” 

She shook her head, spun around and walked out. 

The grin faded away slowly, his arm dropped back to the counter, and he looked around at the place that had been his home for going on 12 years. This apartment had seen so much. His eyes moved over the table where he and Phil had shared their first meal as friends, the couch where they’d shared their first beer, the wall beside the door where they’d shared their first kiss, the countertops where they’d cooked their first meal together. He hopped down and moved through the rest of the apartment reminiscing, letting the memories flow through him, and letting the tears fall with them. 

He grabbed one of his duffle bags from under the bed and began collecting his weapons first. His bow from under the couch in the living room, the guns hidden in drawers and tucked into random gaps, and the knives stashed inside of the pillows on the couch and on the bottom side of kitchen drawers. Once the majority of the weapons had been collected, he started on clothing, extracting a second duffel bag from the same place and shoving his clothes in haphazardly. He could hear Phil scolding him for not folding them before putting them in, but he ignored the phantom words with a chuckle. 

It only took him two hours to be fully prepared to leave the place he’d spent the last 12 years making his home. He stood by the door with both duffel bags thrown over his right shoulder, and he looked around at the space one more time before turning out the light and shutting the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please share this work with your friends, and don't forget to subscribe and bookmark so you'll know when the next chapters are posted! 
> 
> I love receiving comments, and I do my best to respond to everyone, so let me know what you think!


	5. Facing the Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers struggled to defeat some particularly difficult robots, and Clint is forced to return to SHIELD HQ by Fury.

Facing the Music

The Avengers, minus Thor, sat slumped around a conference table in a room with glass walls, Director Fury pacing back and forth in the space at the front of the room. Tattered, bloodied and bruised, all of them seemed to be worse for wear.

Fury stopped his pacing, turned to face them with his hands in fists leaning on the table. “Tell me again exactly how the five of you managed to get your asses kicked by a handful of robots?” 

The Avengers all kept their gazes turned downward, unwilling to look up at him. 

“It was my fault, director,” Steve said, finally breaking the tense silence.

“Bullshit,” Fury replied. “I know for a fact that Stark’s the one who let the three slip by to get to Hawk on the roof.”

“That’s not fair and you know it, Fury,” Barton spoke up, glaring at the director. “Without Thor, Tony’s the only one with the capability of flight, and all of those bots were airborne for 95 percent of the fight, and 100 percent of the bots were focused on the five of us. I don’t know what math you were doing, but those aren’t good odds. The fact we took all of them out with minimal injuries to ourselves and to the bystanders is a miracle.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Fury asked, eyeing the archer. Clint squirmed under the glare, clenching and unclenching his teeth for a moment before replying.

“I want access to the files Coulson kept in his office about the initiative,” Clint said quietly. “I know he had a pretty long list of other remarkable people that he wanted to recruit but didn’t have a chance to speak with before you pulled him to take charge of the Pegasus facility.” 

Fury looked at him again and smirked. Then he nodded, and said, “Alright, but you will have to come to headquarters to retrieve them from my office,” emphasizing the word ‘you’ while staring Barton down. Clint gulped and took a deep breath, wincing at the pull of his broken ribs, then pulled his chin down in a short nod. With that, Fury turned quickly, his trench coat flaring out dramatically, and exited the room through the door on the right side. 

“Damn it,” Tony said, “I really hoped he was going to forget which section of glass the door was and walk dramatically into a solid wall.” 

The rest of the group chuckled weakly at the thought of the mighty Director being humbled by a sheet of glass.

“So, uh, Barton,” Tony shifted his attention to Clint. “Why did you just now bring up these other Avengers candidates? We’ve been living and fighting together for, what, two months now, and this never came up? What gives?”

The others looked to Clint. 

“Well, for one, we were just getting used to the six of us living together, plus Darcy and Jane, and I didn’t want to pressure anyone into adding more people to the team too early,” Clint hedged. “But also, I knew that Fury would want to parade me through all of HQ to get to his office for the files, and I haven’t wanted to go through that yet,” Clint admitted, his eyes focused on a small scratch in the glossy surface of the mahogany table. 

“Thank you, Clint,” Steve said softly. “We get it.”

“You, uh, want us to go with you?” Banner asked, looking to the others before settling his focus back on Clint.

Clint smiled and snorted slightly, and said, “No. Thanks for offering, but this is something I need to do on my own.” 

The other four nodded slowly, then they each got up, some slower than others, and walked and hobbled away from the table and through the door to the elevator. 

Tony and Banner got off on the floor with the massive lab Tony had used to convince Bruce to move into the tower, Steve got off on his personal floor, and Natasha and Clint rode up to Clint’s private floor. 

When the elevator _dinged_ and opened up with a _swish_ , they stepped off into the receiving area. It was a small room with some chairs and a coffee table, with a large door in front of the elevator. The two walked over to the door, and Clint put his hand on the scanner on the right side, mounted on the wall. The scanner went green upon recognition of Clint’s handprint and the door retreated into the wall on the left and they stepped through into the living room of Clint’s floor. The door slid shut behind them silently. 

Clint walked gingerly down the hallway that separated the kitchen on the left side of the apartment from the living room and entertainment system set up on the right side down to the master suite, not bothering to close the bedroom door behind him. He heard the soft click of the door to the floor’s visitor’s bathroom shutting behind Natasha. He went into the en suite and stripped, careful not to jostle his aching ribs too much, and avoiding the lacerations and burns he’d received from the robots’ attacks. Once unclothed, he stepped into the shower, watching the filth and the stale blood wash down the drain. Phantom fingers ran up and down his back as he lathered up, and he turned around to smile at the man behind him, only to see the second shower head spraying water in his face. He shook off the melancholy and rinsed away the soap before stepping out of the shower and patting himself dry with a towel, then he put on a pair of briefs and some stretchy orange pajama pants and went back out into the kitchen. 

As he reached into one of the cabinets under the island to pull out a large first aid kit, Natasha stepped out of the guest bathroom, steam billowing out behind her. She was wearing a pair of Clint’s pajama pants and a graphic tee with Captain America’s face on it. 

Clint hopped up onto the counter of the island beside the sink with the case sitting opened on the counter in front of him.

She reached out and patted the underside of his right bicep, and he lifted both of his arms up, holding them out like a T away from his body. She firmly wrapped a length of ace bandages around his ribs, then took some burn salve and put it on the spots across his lower back where he couldn’t reach. She turned back away and pulled gauze out of the kit next, covering the burns. Once she’d gotten him patched up, she packed the kit back up neatly and put it away. 

“You sure you don’t want any backup?” She asked him, straightening up and leaning on the counter across from Clint.

He nodded, then said, “Yeah, I need to do this on my own.” She looked into his eyes for a few moments, then pushed away from the counter and brushed a kiss against his forehead, pulling his head down to meet hers by pulling on the back of his neck gently. Then she pulled back and walked over to the door leading into the receiving room before stepping onto the elevator, heading to her own floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clint’s entire body tensed in preparation as he reached out to open the doors to HQ. It had been almost three months since he’d stepped foot in the building last. He could still feel the stares of his fellow agents boring into his prickling skin. 

Once inside, he reached up to pull off his sunglasses and tucked them into the left breast pocket of his brown leather jacket, his eyes adjusting to the dimmer interior. He struck a solid pace, not hurried, but much too forced to be called a stroll. 

The lobby was miraculously empty, the only person being the receptionist, and Clint thanked his lucky stars again that they were new. 

As he walked past the desk going toward the bank of elevators on the left side, he couldn’t help but overhear their end of a phone conversation.

“- I understand that you’ve said you're the congressional representative for Missouri, but sir, I’m afraid that does not change the fact that you have called a pizzeria looking for a fictional government agency. Now, are you going to order a pizza or not? We’ve got a really good -” 

Clint laughed to himself as he scanned his badge to call an elevator and imagined the red-faced man on the other end of the line, furiously rechecking the number he'd gotten out of some sort of deal or bribe from a cabinet member who’d received it from a different solicitous deal while trying to tell the receptionist that no, he would not like to order a pizza. 

Clint thought about how many of those numbers that all rerouted to SHIELD receptionists across the U.S. were in circulation amongst the high-and-mighty of America. Those who were important enough to have heard of the existence of SHIELD, but not important enough to need access to real information are oftentimes given these numbers, and when they call, they all receive a similar surprise. All of the agents are given full creative freedom to get rid of the callers. One time, Clint overheard a chipper, female receptionist answer the phone with, “Thank you for calling Bodies ‘R’ Us, you make ‘em, we erase ‘em, what do you need cleaned up today?” in one of the most terrifyingly bubbly voices he’d ever heard. He had never seen any of the calls terminated so quickly. The memory of her devious smirk was wiped away by the door of the elevator retreating into itself, revealing an empty carriage. He stepped in, pressing the button for the 30th floor. He held his finger on the door closed button and the floor button to prevent the elevator from stopping on any of the other floors in between. The less people he had to come into contact with, the better. 

However, when the elevator inexplicably opened up its doors on level 4, Clint threw a hard glare to the security camera nestled into the top left corner over the numbers bank, and released the buttons. 

“Clint! Hey man, it’s good to see you!” Clint swung his head to the right, making eye contact with a hispanic man in a regulation tac suit. He blinked a couple times, clearing his throat.

“Jimenez, hey, long time no see,” Clint said, his eyes flashing between the man and the floor. “How’s the family?”

“They’re doing good! The girls were excited that their school got shut down, until they found out they were just going to have to do all of their work from home on the internet,” the other agent replied. “You doing alright?”

Clint focused on him, expecting to see the pitiful look he’d given Clint the last time they’d seen each other. This time, though, Jorge simply looked mildly concerned, eyebrows turned up a bit, but no pity.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m doing better. A lot better, actually.” Jorge smiled, then smacked Clint’s shoulder playfully, saying, “yeah, I bet I’d be doing incredible if I lived in Stark’s fancy-ass tower hanging out with the Avengers 24/7 too.” Clint smiled at him, readying a reply when the elevator came to another stop on the 10th floor, and Jorge stepped off, offering a quick, “this is me. Don’t be a stranger!” over his shoulder as he strode off. Taking his place were three agents, all of whom Clint had worked with before. 

“Where you guys headed?” Clint asked, again refusing to make eye contact. He could feel them staring at him. There was a brief moment of silence after one of them told him what floor they needed to get to, and he could have sworn the elevator slowed it’s rate of ascent, before one of the agents spoke up.

“I’m sorry, Barton.” 

Clint looked at the speaker. The woman’s name was Becky Miller. Her brother had been killed on the helicarrier when one of Loki’s mercenaries threw him off the flight deck. A week after the Battle of New York, he had gone into headquarters for some of Coulson’s belongings, and she had attacked him, physically and verbally, blaming him for her brother’s death. 

“I was - what I did was - it wasn’t your fault. I knew that then, but I had no one else to - . That’s not a good excuse. I’m really sorry. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was.” Clint could hear her tears in her voice, but he couldn’t make himself look at her.

“We all owe you an apology,” the other female agent, a Pegasus survivor, said. Then, the other man, an agent who had worked with him and Coulson on a special forces extraction op a couple years ago, said, “You lost so much that day, and we all just left you to handle it on your own.”

Clint felt his own tears building up behind his eyes, but he forced himself to make eye contact with all three agents, silently thanking them individually with tight head bobs. When the elevator made its stop on their floor, they all stepped off silently, leaving him alone in the carriage once again. He collapsed, leaning heavily on the back wall, closed his eyes and rested the back of his head on the wall and took the rest of the ride to compose himself, taking deep restorative breaths. There were no other stops going up to the 30th. 

When the doors swished open, he propelled himself off the wall and walked with purpose to Fury’s office. Everyone in the hall who passed him called out happy greetings to him, expressing their pleasure that he was back in the building before they went about their business. Finally, he slammed the director’s door open, forcefully shutting it behind him. 

“Why yes, agent, you may enter my office. Sure, if you would like, you can close the door behind you as well, agent,” Fury said, humour dancing in his voice while he glared good-naturedly at Clint. Barton stood silently, staring down at the relaxing man behind the desk, leaned back with his feet propped up and his arms crossed behind his head.

“The files are right there on the corner of the desk. They’re all yours,” he said, lazily pointing to a glass tablet without bothering to move more than necessary. 

“Did you know?” 

Fury’s eyebrow raised questioningly. 

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that, Barton.”

“Did you know they were going to be nice, that I wasn’t going to get attacked again,” Clint bit back.

Fury threw his head back and laughed, “‘Course I did. I know about everything that goes on in this organization.”

Clint smirked and laughed to himself, thinking back to a couple things he knew for a fact the director didn’t know about. 

“You wanna share something with the class there, Barton?” 

Clint smiled at the director and just shook his head, then said, “Not unless you’ve got something to share too.”

Fury sat up and looked at him with an intensity that set off an alarm somewhere in Clint’s head, but then Fury relaxed and just chuckled, shaking his head and putting his feet back up on the desk. He gestured to the tablet with his head, and said, “Take your files and get lost, Hawk.” 

Clint shook off the weirdness and grabbed the tablet and left the door open behind him to annoy his boss. He could hear Nick yelling at him, but he just walked a little bit faster to the elevators, nodding jovially to the agents in the hallway as he passed by them. A few agents stopped his elevator on the way down. They all greeted him with smiles, and he participated in the friendly banter, just like he would have before. 

Leaving the building, he smiled to himself, finally feeling as if he belonged in his own skin. He tucked the tablet into the saddle bag attached to his motorcycle, strapped his helmet on and sped away back to the Avenger’s Tower to look over the files with his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been a minute since I've updated! Real life has been kicking my butt, but I finally got this chapter where I wanted it! Please enjoy, and don't forget to comment and kudos as you feel inspired to! Thanks for reading! <3 <3


	6. Meeting the Team and Other Touchy Subjects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloo! Thanks for reading, please feel free to share this with your friends and drop a comment below!

“Of all the names on that list, we seriously only have one solid recruit option?” Tony asked, staring at his teammates gathered around the dining room table. 

“Yup,” said Steve, his elbow propped up on the table, his forehead in his palm. “The good news is, he’s already local, and I know how to get in contact with him.”

Clint lifted his head from where it had fallen onto his arms on the table to look at the super soldier, “You do?”

“Yeah. He runs support groups for veterans at the V.A. building up in D.C. I’ve run into him a couple times while I was up there doing some stuff for SHIELD; attended a session or two,” Steve said. “He’s actually been helping me get back in touch with some of the men I served with who are still alive, and the families of those who’ve already passed with his V.A. contacts.” 

“Will you talk to him?” Natasha asked.

Steve nodded. 

  
“Hey, he’s not on the list, but do you think Rhodey might be interested? I know he’s flown some of your armor a time or two,” Bruce spoke up. 

Thor’s brow furrowed, “Who is this Rhodey you speak of?” 

“James Rhodes, a.k.a. Rhodey, is my best friend. He’s a Colonel in the U.S. Air Force, and I’d have to ask, but it would probably be a conflict of interest with the military for him to join our rag tag group,” Tony said, leaning back in the wooden chair. “But I can talk to him. Maybe he could be like a reserve Avenger, like they have the reserve militaries!” 

The Avengers all chuckled, but their attention was soon drawn by the appearance of a slight brunette wearing a t-shirt and jeans with a white lab coat shuffling into the doorway, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose and her hair falling out of the loose messy bun.

“Sorry for interrupting, but I had a question about lab space for Mr. Stark?” She pushed her glasses up with her right pointer finger while her left hand held a black leather-bound notebook. 

“Dr. Foster! Please, it’s Tony,” he said, swiveling his butt on the chair to face her.

“Oh, no, please - call me Jane.”

“Alrighty then, Jane, what’s up with the lab? You need more space? Cause I can g - “  
  
Jane’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped a little. She stepped back a bit, her arms coming up in a defensive position.

“N-no, I was just going to ask if it was all mine or if I would be sharing the space with another scientist before I went around spreading out my equipment all over the place!” 

Tony cocked his head and scoffed. “Well of course it’s all yours. When you agreed to move in, I promised you a fully operational private lab, one hundred percent customizable for your researching needs.” 

“Yes, but I wasn’t expecting an entire floor to myself!”

Just then, a younger brunette wearing a beanie walked up beside Jane and cleared her throat, giving Jane a hard look before tossing her head in the direction of the Avengers. 

“Right! But, thank you so much for clearing that up, and for holding up your end of the agreement, Tony,” Jane said, smiling wildly, her eyes glinting at the thought of all of that unused lab space. “Darcy and I are going to finish getting settled in.” 

Jane and Darcy turned away from the group at the table and started walking back to the elevators. “And thank you again!” Jane threw back over her shoulder before they turned the corner out of sight. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, are you settled in alright? Has Jarvis been giving you any troubles? Anything you need?” Tony asked, leaned up against one of the workbenches in Jane’s lab, a pouch of dried strawberries in hand. 

“Yes! Everything has been great, and Jarvis has been an amazing help! I just wanted to thank you again for having me here, and giving me this space,” Jane raved, putting down the specimen she had been examining under the microscope. 

“What’cha got there?” Tony asked, leaning in for a better look at the slide on the bench. 

“Oh, I was just looking at some soil samples from the site of the Einstein-Rosen bridge that Thor uses to travel between worlds. When it touched down here on Earth, it left peculiar markings, and I have been trying to determine if the occurrence changes the molecular structures of the soil it comes into contact with,” Jane explained, her hands sweeping in wide gestures to describe the ray of the bifrost hitting the earth. “Of course, my research was greatly slowed down by the Men in Black who absconded with all of my equipment a few years ago. I believe it was actually your friends at SHIELD, who just so happened to open up a doorway for Loki to come through?” 

Tony laughed and shook his head. 

“Yeah, some of those stick-up-their-ass agents can really take the fun out of things,” Tony said, his memories bringing up one agent in particular that he’d love to tease. 

“Of course, I can’t say I’m not happy that Agent Coulson wasn’t a member of the welcome party. I don’t know if I could keep it civil with him in the room. The audacity of that man!” 

Tony looked up at her sharply, his brows drawing in together and his jaw tightening slightly.

“Agent Coulson died on the helicarrier during the attack, facing Loki alone while the rest of us stood divided. He was the only one who truly believed in the Avengers as a team,” Tony said tensely. “Every one of us would give anything for him to be here.” 

Jane lowered her hands to the bench slowly, her chin tucking down against her chest. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Tony loosened up, quickly transitioning back to his usual flippant attitude.

“No, I know. It’s fine. He’s just a bit of a sore subject around here. Red and Hawk were really close to him at SHIELD, and Cap and Thor blame themselves,” Tony said. “Bruce has a little guilt about how everything went down, but he didn’t know Agent very well.”

“And you?” Jane asked, raising her eyes to watch the eccentric man.

“I knew him. Not well. But he did his fair share of pestering me,” Tony replied, smirking a little. 

“Anywho, let’s take a look at that dirt,” Tony said, shifting over to look through the microscope lens.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The newest member of the Avengers team looked up instinctually as a voice rang out and bounced around the still-bare walls of his room, even though Steve had told him many times that the speaker wasn’t actually in the ceiling. 

“Mr. Wilson, the Captain is requesting access to your floor. Shall I let him in?” JARVIS asked.

“Yeah, tell him I’m in the bedroom. Thanks JARVIS,” Sam called out as he continued the process of transferring his clothes from his suitcase to the chest of drawers sitting along the wall left of the bed. 

Sam listened as the footsteps got louder, until there was a pause and then a short series of light raps on the wooden door. Sam turned and tossed a nod to the buff blonde.

“How’d your talk with Peggy go?” Sam asked, watching Steve’s face closely.

Steve’s jaw seized and his brow furrowed. He avoided Sam’s eyes, favoring the floor. 

“Not as I expected it to. I still have more questions than answers,” Steve said, more subdued than usual. He moved over to the wall of windows, his hands in his favorite pair of khakis. “You get everything moved in?” 

“You’re avoiding me,” Sam declared. “What happened?” 

Steve turned around and made eye contact with Sam. The look reminded Sam of a man who had come to Sam who had just sobered up after years of alcohol abuse. He had lost his wife and son to a car crash more than a decade ago, but he just looked so lost when he wandered into Sam’s office after regaining his clarity. That lost look was what triggered Sam’s memory of the man. 

“I don’t - I mean - I can’t. I don’t know how to talk about it yet,” Steve said, the lost look replaced by frustration. Sam just nodded. He had learned throughout his years of leading recovery groups that trying to get people to talk about things they haven’t fully processed internally would only make them retreat from you more. 

“You know, I could use a hand shifting some of that furniture in the living room,” Sam said, standing up from his place on the bed. “I could do it on my own, but it would go faster with an extra hand.” 

Steve smiled, relieved. 

“Lead the way, master decorator.”

The two men chuckled their way to the living room, and began a discussion about their baseball teams - which quickly devolved into trash talk and exaggerating their teams’ chances of winning it all that year.


End file.
